


Dance

by monyaka



Series: Femslash February 2020 [27]
Category: Hello Charlotte (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash February 2020, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Trans Female Character, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22938811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monyaka/pseuds/monyaka
Summary: Day 28 of 29 : DanceCharlotte doesn't know how to waltz, and she doesn't know how to be a good girlfriend, either.
Relationships: Charles Eyler/Q84
Series: Femslash February 2020 [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619584
Kudos: 9





	Dance

**Author's Note:**

> SOMETIMES I REALLY DO JUST CRY!!!! i think tomorrow's going to be them too, because i really do just love them so much. it's sad!! this is the second to last day, and i'm already getting nostalgic. but anyway this one really did hit me in the feels; i love q84 so much and exploring the way she approaches intimacy just. destroys me emotionally

“Do you know how to waltz?” The words are murmured too close to her ear, and for a second, she wants to sock her dance partner in the face, wants to kick her in the shin, wants to take off these heels and plunge them into her eye sockets and  _ run. _

But she doesn’t. Instead, she hates herself and the way her heart beats faster in her chest. She was never supposed to need someone. She was never supposed to even want someone. But here she is, dancing with Charles, pressed so  _ embarrassingly _ close to her chest. Charles is so much taller than her, and she dresses in black and white, and her eyes are a colour. 

Charlotte hates colour.

Or more adequately, she hates the way the colour of Charles’ eyes make her feel stained with affection and care and wanting the best for someone other than herself. Empathy is for shitheads who don’t need to fear for their lives, she’s always told herself. Empathy is for people so privileged they deserve to die anyway.

Charles is empathetic, though, and she doesn’t want her to die.

Charles is the only one that’s ever made her feel—

“Of course I know how to waltz,” she snaps under her breath, and promptly steps on Charles’ foot. The smile on her lips twitches a bit, presumably in pain, but she doesn’t falter. No one else keeps up with Charlotte like Charles does. It’s admirable. It’s amazing. It’s a fucking  _ colour. _

Formalities and fitting in are tossed (kind of) to the wayside as she stomps on her partner’s foot with a high-heeled shoe—she’s still trying not to draw attention, and she pretends it’s for her own benefit and not Charles’. She doesn’t do favours, after all. Doesn’t stick her neck out for anyone but herself.

_ Isolationism is a wise foreign policy, but it’s a rather dangerous one, too. _

Why is she thinking about one of Charles’ stupid comments at a time like this?

Charles’ hand slips a bit lower on her waist in a way that makes her feel both disgusted and excited. “It’s rather unfortunate for you, then, that this isn’t a waltz.” Charlotte’s expression sours at the little trick, but she doesn’t try to kick her or anything. Her gaze flickers over to Scarlett Eyler, Charles’ elder sister, and her stomach twists with something. Fear. Anxiety. Charles is wearing a tuxedo not because she wants to, but because Scarlett still dictates her life.

It makes her fucking sick.

“What we’re doing, really, isn’t a type of ballroom dancing at all.” Why does she want to tremble so much at the sound of her voice by her ear? “It’s a slow dance, derived from a basic understanding of how ballroom dances look, but reformatted for a more natural feel.”

She hates her lectures. Hates them so much, but she can tell how careful Charles is speaking, with her lips nestled in her hair like she doesn’t think of her as dirty at all. She can see out of the corner of her eye, the yellow irises following her gaze to Scarlett, her murmured words an attempt to soothe her.

Charles always treats her like a goddamn queen, and it’s not fair. Doesn’t she know that she doesn’t need to fucking  _ serve _ Charlotte for her to like her? Doesn’t she know that the butler schtick is some shitty coping mechanism for running herself ragged between her sister and her mother? Doesn’t she  _ know _ that Charlotte would never hurt her like that?

She steps on his foot again.

Charles mouths a kiss against her hair.

She knees her in the shin.

Charles murmurs,  _ I love you. _

“I have to leave,” she chokes out, and pushes her dance partner away, rushes to the bathroom. She can feel a scarlet gaze on her back. She can feel a golden heart beating with worry for her. She can feel pink growing in her chest, forcing its way up her cheeks. And then she slips out the window and goes to Charlie’s Junk Food.

Nothing is worth this feeling, not even the softness of Charles’ eyes and the way she makes her feel so special and so loved.

When she enters the fast-food chain, though, Charles is already there with Charlotte’s usual order and a frown making her pretty face look ugly. She looks out of place with her tuxedo, but Charlotte figures she probably looks the same with this stupid dress that she was so excited to wear before. To look like a normal girl. And look where she is now.

“I hailed a cab once I realized you’d left,” explains Charles. “You always do  _ walk _ these distances, don’t you?” 

She doesn’t say it’s a force of habit. She just takes a messy bite out of her burger, as if that will drive Charles away after Charles has already made a fool out of herself at the party because of her.

Charles is quiet for a moment. “Did you… Did I upset you?”

“ _ No, _ ” she replies, exasperated. “You just don’t know when to stop, do you? You—You just—” 

Yellow eyes are staring at the corner of her lips, as if reading them will help her understand what she’s saying.

“You can’t just act like that. It’s embarrassing.”

“I… apologize.” Charles doesn’t even steal any of her fries, which means she’s likely feeling incredibly guilty. After a few long moments, she adds, “I should have guessed that being so public would have, er… been a bit uncomfortable.”

“Yeah,” replies Charlotte with a mouth full of beef and cheese. “After this, we’re going home, and  _ I’m _ gonna dance, and  _ you’re _ gonna tell me how hot I am.”

Charles’ eyes seem to glow with affection. “Of course.”


End file.
